


Standing Stones, Tudor Roses, & The Thorns of Time

by nightfalltwen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Multi, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Time Travel, Tudor Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:35:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28650636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfalltwen/pseuds/nightfalltwen
Summary: When the final battle doesn't go as expected at Hogwarts and the war drags out over the next few years, the New Order of the Phoenix is desperate to find a way to end it. An ancient spell is found and there might be hope if it's cast correctly at the right time and in the right place. But there's always a problem when magical battles and old spells occur on land rife with wild and ancient magic. Harry, Hermione, Ron, and a number others suddenly find themselves in the middle of 1535. It is the reign of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn is desperately trying to save her position by producing an heir to England's throne.How they get back, no one knows.What effects they will have on history. Only time will tell.
Relationships: Anne Boleyn/Henry VIII of England, Draco Malfoy/Theodore Nott, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, Pansy Parkinson/Ron Weasley
Comments: 17
Kudos: 27





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> February 7th, 2001, I posted my first fic at ffnet. It's not there anymore, but the account is still around. **It's my 20th Anniversary of being in HP fandom** and I thought I'd go back to my roots. This fic is a story based on the LJ roleplaying game I was part of called **Tempus_Flux** and is **AU** from midway through the Battle of Hogwarts. I hope you enjoy. Special love goes to **Cryptaknight** for graciously allowing me to abscond with her version of Charlie as well as tackling wrong commas in this beast. And also to **Glitter_Pink** , who helped come up with the title as well as her constant cheerleading and support. ILU both so very much.

_Wiltshire - around 2450 BC, give or take_

It was a time when magic and religion intertwined. So much so that one could not be discerned from the other. They were called Druids or priests. Great men with great power and a connection to the earth that none had before or since. This was long before verbal spells were used, when magic users were in small numbers. Long before islands were shrouded in mists and legends foretold of swords and magic or kings and knights. Long before muggles ceased to follow or believe in the old ways.

These men—these Druid priests—commanded the public. They were revered.

The construction of the great henge had been easy. The spells were simple for men who were advanced in their magical skills and learning. No one had seen such a structure before and seeing that it rose toward the sky, the top stones towering over everyone, in just one night only proved to everyone that these men were the most powerful.

So perhaps it wasn't necessarily reverence, but fear, that kept the priests in their high positions. Who would question it? They were quite obviously favoured by the gods.

And like all favours from the gods, this one demanded repayment.

Village children were brought forth. They could walk on their own and guiding them into place seemed easy at first. But with that mobility came defiance so the offerings eventually turned to the newly born. The babies selected were new. Born at the right time in the right place with their lives entwined by the stars. Most were still wriggling in the slime of their journey to the world, their bellies still attached to lengths of pulsing cord. Babies were easier to control and talk of virgin blood, blood that had not seen sacrifice, led to the legend of young girls in white dresses being led to slaughter.

It was an honour to have a child chosen to be a gift to the old gods. It was an honour to see it placed upon the altar and although the child would often cry out at the injustice of spending its first moments upon slab of cold rock and although its mother's heart would wrench and her arms would beg to reach out and comfort the small form that had been nestled so close to her heart, she would stay her place. She would be brave. This was the highest honour.

Unlike the stories that came later there were no knives. There was no blood. The air would simply prickle and crack and the child would be gone. Accepted by the gods as a worthy tribute.

Not even the Druid priests knew where the gods took the sacrifices. Only that its life would now be complete and that come the next high holy day there would be another.

❦❦❦❦❦

_Wiltshire - 1949_

Headlines splashed across the country newspapers. They called it a tragedy. How could someone be so cruel to a newborn with no more than a few hours in this cold and very cruel world. The police could find no record of a mother and no record of a father. People whispered their theories, whispered their disgust at the idea that someone would leave their child cold and alone on the slaughter stone at Stonehenge. 

The poor thing was nearly frozen when the first group of tourists arrived at the henge. They followed a bespectacled man with an unfortunate comb-over talking about the history of the area when it happened. Little Jenny Hawkins pulled away from her mum, dashing over to the enormous stones. She was going to climb higher and faster than Violet ever could, only stopping when the bundle let out a weak cry that sent her running back to her mum and alerting everyone to the tiny child.

What a shame, they had all remarked, whispering over pints and folded newspapers with headlines blaring condemnation at the very idea of pagan worship in this good Christian nation.

Baby John, for that was all they could think to call him even though his mother had named him Áed for being born at night in the light of the fire, was eventually adopted by a loving family and grew to know of cars and The Beatles and mini skirts and industry. The same was true for the other babies found on the stone before him and few found after.

The general public and the newspapers that had reported on the events surmised that it was the fencing off of Stonehenge in 1977 that caused the babies to cease appearing. Bloody good show, the officials and government had told themselves and patted themselves on the back. No more of this riffraff subjecting their children to such abandonment.

But it hadn't been the fence.

It had been the reparations a few years before. Things often happen to magic threads when sacred spaces are pulled out of alignment. And that's what happened. Stones that were thought to be propped back to their original places were slightly off kilter. The action had severed the link between past and present. Sort of. The ley lines were no longer straight but kinked and tangled like a garden hose left outside over winter to freeze and crack. It still carried water, but not in the way in which it had been designed.

And occasionally someone would go missing.

The authorities would eventually shelve those cases as cold and unsolvable. They would state that it was unlikely that anyone could just vanish into thin air and that whomever was lost just didn't want to be found. And they would never find a trace.

❦❦❦❦❦

_Hogwarts - 1998_

Harry tucked the flask of memories into his pocket and stared down at the fallen body of their former teacher, only just barely registering the blood that was soaking into the knees of his jeans. It was not the first body he'd seen and he was distinctly aware that it would not be the last. He stood up, finally, and faced both Ron and Hermione. They'd just watched Voldemort set Nagini on Snape before vanishing and despite none of them actually liking the man that lay before them, both had the same shattered expression on their faces. Harry glanced down at the glassy, lifeless eyes. And then everything had gone quiet inside of him.

There was nothing. No hissing voice. No knifing pain across his scar, only a dull ache. Harry closed his eyes and tried to focus his thoughts on Voldemort, but nothing called back from the void. He cracked open his eyes and looked at his two friends, mouth opening in surprise. "I think... " Harry faltered, sucking in a breath. "I think Voldemort is... I think he's gone."

"He's gone?" Hermione asked incredulously, the rubble of Hogwarts strewn all around them. 

Harry nodded and rubbed his scar, something feeling not so right about the whole situation. This was supposed to be the final battle. Voldemort wasn't supposed to just _leave_. This was supposed to be the end of it all. They'd destroyed the cup. They'd destroyed the diadem. All that was left was the snake, Nagini, and then it was meant to be over. But the school had gone quiet. In its smouldering ruins, the sounds of the battle had gone quiet.

Too quiet.

"What do you mean he's _gone_?" Hermione asked, reaching out to clutch Ron's hand briefly before he pulled himself from her grip and turned to dash up to the school. 

"I don't know, Hermione." Harry said, his gaze traveling to Ron's retreating form, knowing just where he was headed. "He's not here. None of them are."

The horror was only just beginning to set in. They'd just experienced an enormous loss. Both of life and of Hogwarts itself. 

And it had just ended. Just like that.

But without resolution.

❦❦❦❦❦

_Wiltshire - 2003_

Hermione sank to her knees in front of the massive slaughter stone buried deep in the grass. Despite the rising heat of the morning and the dryness of the summer, her knees still went cold as they touched the ground and connected with whatever ley lines were beneath the hill. She threw up a hasty protective spell as her friends fought around her, spells vollying back and forth and causing every hair on her head to crackle with a static charge.

They'd somehow drawn them out. Voldemort had answered Harry's challenge and this was to be the end. No muggle repelling charms this time

"This had better work, Granger," a sharp voice spoke over the magic crackling against the web of protection that surrounded the buried stone.

Hermione scowled and held out the piece of alder charcoal. "Just draw the runes, Parkinson." She paused. " _Exactly_ like we practiced."

Even under the pressure of a fight raging around them Pansy still managed to roll her eyes and snort at Hermione's instruction. 

After Hogwarts had been razed, the Death Eaters vanishing and Voldemort going into hiding, the Order had been approached by a few of the Slytherin students left behind. Rather Theodore Nott had approached them, dragging Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson with him. Harry hadn't liked the idea, nor had Hermione or Ron, but in the end they'd accepted the help. Forgiveness hadn't been asked for, nor had it been offered.

And Hermione was sure that everyone was alright with that.

She worked quickly, alongside Parkinson, who was surprisingly adept at runes until all the symbols were laid out. Then they pointed their wands at the black marks, casting the temporal spell that Hermione had found in a crumbling scroll buried deep in the archives of Durmstrang. It had all been theory, of course, and difficult to translate and it had taken so, so long to perfect.

But mixing old magic with broken ley lines was dangerous.

And with everyone so distracted by the frenzy of battle, no one noticed the stones and how they'd begun to hum. Mismatched and broken, propped up in all the wrong places, the stones absorbed the magic like hardened sponges directing it into something much older than anyone in the world. Old threads of magic and the woven tapestry of time was being pulled into the fray. The air began to crackle.

Then one last spell tipped the scales and triggered the whole screaming wave of action.

Those who knew what travel by portkey felt like began to recognise the tug. But unlike a portkey it wasn't a gentle hook to a new destination. Instead a burning claw of magic grabbed them directly under the ribs and pulled. _Everyone_ knew that something was going wrong. The battle stopped abruptly and the screams that filled the air didn't. They continued and grew louder, both out of pain and out of fear. People grabbed on to whatever they could, be it the person standing next to them or the stones themselves to somehow anchor themselves from this strange and terrifying event.

Nothing was untouched by this grasping pull. There were no Druids, no old magicians, to control the magic enough to send everyone in the right direction, if any direction was right at all.

And then, like a flash, it was over.

Left behind was a circle of stones, empty of people. And those who had not been dragged into the void were left behind with the horror of not knowing where the rest had gone.


	2. Chapter 2

The first light of the day, which was entirely too goddamn early in the morning, signalled to the chickens that it was time to start being restless and noisy. The rooster, a bastard like any other rooster, had them all out of bed and in a flap looking for their breakfast. On other days, George would have flung his arm over his eyes and groaned, wishing for just a few more minutes of peaceful slumber. This, however, was not any other morning and nor had he actually been awoke by the furiously clucking brood. Instead, his eyes had popped open in the purple dark of the pre-dawn, his skin buzzing and the last threads of a vivid dream slipping from his thoughts. 

After a few minutes of watching the swirl and sparkle of dust that floated in a beam of morning sunshine, George carefully climbed over the slender legs of the woman who had been curled up beside him. She made a small noise at the movement, obviously undisturbed by both him and the noises of her birds outside, before turning over and stretching out over the extra space he'd left behind. Her breathing returned to the slow and deep measures of thorough sleep and George glanced at her with a slight pang of regret.

Quickly gathering the rumpled and discarded clothing, he found his boots and pulled his wand from the little pocket along the inside. He set it on a small shelf and shook out his rumpled shirt, tugging it over his head. Once dressed, he grabbed his wand and turned. He carefully obliviated himself from the sleeping woman’s memory before vanishing from the small room above the public house. Perhaps if it had been a perfect world he could have settled down with someone like her, but it was not a perfect world. So it was better if she didn't remember him. Less to explain that way.

Waves of anxiety, coupled with nausea, churned the edges of his stomach when George arrived at the circle of stones. He closed his eyes and rubbed at them with his fingers until bursts of colour appeared behind his eyelids. This was the fifth year he'd come back to this very spot and only once before had the result been different. However, there was something about the way he was feeling that concerned him. Mostly because it gave him hope. He didn’t like hope. Hope had done nothing for him. Hope was dangerous when things were especially hopeless.

The electric buzz tickled across his limbs once again. It reminded him of being caught in the middle of a lightning storm during a quidditch game. The static charge seemed to have nowhere to go and all the hairs on his body answered by raising up off his skin.

 _Please_ , he thought. He begged. He pleaded. _Don't let it be like last year._

Opening his eyes and preparing himself to be let down, George's jaw dropped, and his heart very nearly stopped. There had always been that hope that it would be different, but he'd been talking himself through the idea that it would be just the same as the previous year. His knees went soft for a moment and he almost sank to the ground.

He wasn't alone. Not this time.

Just like the one time three years ago, they were all unconscious. George made short work of checking everyone, his fingers lightly touching each neck and waiting for the soft tickle of a pulse before he moved on. No one was injured, that he could tell, and he said their names under his breath as he checked. Harry. Ron. Charlie. Oh god... His _family_. He was even glad to see the Slytherins. Malfoy was apart from the group, over near a standing stone. Parkinson and Hermione, who would probably be horrified to realise that they were clutching each other's hands.

The last person he reached out to touch was Luna and when his fingers came into contact with the side of her throat, her eyes opened. In his shock, George fell backwards onto his arse. He cursed under his breath as his left buttock hit a rather unfortunately placed, and rather pointy, stone.

"My goodness, George. I don't remember you having a beard when we were fighting," she said, pushing herself up on her elbows. She looked down at her bare legs, one purple sock pulled high up over her knee and the other green sock slouched down to her calf. "My legs look about the same as they did this morning. Was it just you that experienced accelerated hair growth or did all the boys?"

George burst out in almost hysterical laughter and, without a second thought, he dragged her into his arms, hugging her desperately. He had _missed_ her airy statements and her unreserved Luna-ness so very much. She made a little squeak, mostly in surprise, but returned the hug, her hand patting his shoulder lightly as she did so. The steady thump thump was inordinately comforting and George was at a loss for words, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. She was good like that. Hugs did not require an explanation or justification.

"Is it over then?" she asked, her voice muffled against his shoulder. "Did it work?"

Before George could answer or try to give any sort of explanation, an angry noise came from the flat stone. He dropped his arms from around Luna and looked over to see both Hermione and Parkinson sitting up, their hands no longer joined. Parkinson was pointing an angry finger at Hermione and her face had an unpleasant shade of red spreading across her cheeks.

"What the hell did you do, Granger?" she shouted, pushing herself to her feet and wildly looking around. "Draco?! Theodore?!"

George stood and moved toward where Parkinson was calling out for her friends. It was all too overwhelming and he was just now starting to realise how much he was going to have to explain because none of them had any inkling as to what had happened or where they were. He reached out a hand to touch her shoulder and she wheeled on him, her wand drawn. George put up his hands.

"Settle down, Parkinson," he said, pointing with his arms still raised. "Your boyfriend is over there. He's still out." His arms went up higher as her expression darkened. "Not dead," he clarified. "Just unconscious."

"Don't tell me to settle down, Weasley! That's one of my best friends, not boyfriend, you're talking about," Pansy said angrily, casting a glance over to where Draco lay prone. "What happened to the battle?" she demanded, wheeling back on George once again. "Where is everyone?!"

"If we're all dead and I have to listen to that screeching for the rest of eternity, Harry, I'm going to kill you."

George let out a deep sigh of relief when he saw his younger brother sit up, rubbing the back of his head and shooting Parkinson a glare. Ron had never liked the idea of the Slytherin trio becoming so entangled in the New Order of the Phoenix and he'd voiced this displeasure on a number of occasions. George hadn't really liked it either, but when Harry had explained his reasoning, that having Malfoy and Nott on their side as inside informants would only serve to help their cause, he'd not spoken out against it. He deferred to Harry's decision when it came to the New Order.

Slowly everyone began to stir. Luna, who had taken up field medicine and healing for the New Order, squatted down near Ron. She cast a few spells and seemed satisfied with the result before she moved onto Harry and then to Charlie. She didn't seem panicked and George felt himself relax slightly. It seemed as if no one was appearing to have suffered any grievous injuries.

Hermione, still seated next to the buried slaughter stone, made frantic noises as she dug around in the little satchel tied to her belt. Finally, after quite a bit of searching, she drew out a tattered notebook and started flipping through the pages. She turned back to the stone. George knew she would find nothing; none of the marks that her and Parkinson had applied would not be visible.

"This doesn't make any _sense_ ," she said.

Drawing in a deep breath, George opened his mouth, ready to give what little explanation he could. But he was interrupted by a feral scream. Drawing out his wand, along with everyone else, he turned toward the noise.

"Traitor!! What have you done with them?!"

A figure in a dark robe, that George hadn't noticed when he'd been checking the group, launched itself at Malfoy who had only just started to rise. The mask fell away as the figure collided with him. They both hit the ground and the wild eyes and twisted mouth of Alecto Carrow was now fully visible. There was a flash and Pansy stifled a shriek. Despite not entirely liking Malfoy, everyone aimed their wands. The pair grappled and every time it looked as if someone could get a hit in, their positions changed to bring Draco into the line of fire. Between the pair something flashed again. Except it wasn't a spell and when Alecto drew back her clenched fist, everyone could see the blade clutched in her hand.

She looked toward the group and then frantically around for anyone who might come to her side. But there was no one. 

With another feral growl and she pushed Malfoy aside, ripping the wand from his grasp before she disappeared with a flash.

Pansy was the first to drop her wand, sprinting ahead of the group to where Draco sat on the ground, a stunned look on his face. George watched as Charlie stooped to pick up the discarded wand, carrying it with him as they all moved to join the pair. He reached out and tapped the handle of the wand against Pansy's shoulder before placing it on the ground next to her knee.

"Where's Theodore?" Draco asked, looking over Pansy's shoulder as she pulled at the hand that was pressed to his side.

"Weasley said we hadn't all woken up yet," she answered, waving her hand over her shoulder.

Draco frowned. "Which one, Pansy? There are three of— ow!"

At his sudden exclamation, Pansy sat back and when Draco finally lifted his hand, he revealed a dark stain that had begun to colour the front of his shirt. Luna approached the two and, without hesitating, she pushed Pansy to the side. She dropped to her knees beside him. Lifting the shirt, everyone could now see blood around a long tear in the fabric and beneath it was a ragged cut in his side. She pulled a small flask out of her pocket and poured a few drops onto his skin. Thankfully it seemed like the essence of dittany had survived the battle and nothing in the stones had eroded its effectiveness. Draco sucked in a breath as his skin knit together, mumbling a thanks before waving away her hand once the bleeding had stopped.

"It might do well to take him to St Mungo's," she said after a moment, looking first to Pansy and then to Harry.

George rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat. "We can't."

"Of course we can." Pansy stood up, hands on her hips. "Dittany is only good for field medicine. A proper healer should look him over to make sure that something worse didn't happen."

Drawing in a deep breath, George sighed, his cheeks puffing out. "No. I mean we literally can't. St Mungo's doesn't exist in 1535."

They all turned, confusion on every face. George held out his arms and gestured to himself. To him it was fairly obvious and he was baffled by the blank looks he was receiving. From the flat hat on his head, to the strange shoes on his feet, to the beard on his face and the sudden change in the length of his hair, one by one the looks of realisation started to appear on their faces as it clicked in that he was quite different from the George they had seen only moments ago (to them) on the battlefield.

"That can't be..." Hermione started a hand covering her mouth. "That's not how the spell was supposed to work..."

George looked at her, wanting to be angry, wanting to be outrageously furious at the fact that he'd been stuck in the sixteenth century without anyone for so long because of a spell that she had convinced them all would be the most effective. But the horror on her face stopped the snappy retort that had initially jumped into his mouth. She couldn't have known that there was something wrong with the magic. They'd all agreed it was a huge unknown and only had a small chance of working. And in the end it had technically worked. She had created a successful fluctuation in time and people had been thrown backwards over centuries.

It had just been the wrong people.

Hermione sank to the ground and then yanked at the ties that held the satchel to her waist, pulling open the drawstring before upending the whole thing and giving it a shake. Potion bottles and books began tumbling out onto the grass and she pushed them aside, muttering under her breath. Ron opened his mouth, probably to say something about her using her wand and a summoning spell to find what she needed when Harry reached out and touched his arm, giving his head a shake. Snatching up a biro with an 'a-ha' noise, Hermione began to scribble in her notebook looking back at the slaughter stone and retracing the runes that she'd put down with Pansy during the battle.

"How long has it been, Georgie?" Charlie asked when no one else seemed to want to voice the question.

George glanced at his brother and a pang hit him under the ribs at the nickname. He'd hated it so much as a child, but had then longed for it so much over the last few years when he was sure he was never going to hear it again. He rubbed the back of his neck.

"About five years now," he said, wincing at Charlie’s sharp intake of breath. "Woke up fairly similar to how you all did. Of course I didn't have the pleasure of having someone here to greet me."

"Five... years?" Harry asked incredulously.

George sighed. He could see all the questions starting to form in everyone’s minds. "Look, this isn't really the best place for me to tell the whole story. We're pretty much sitting ducks and no plan to defend ourselves. That crazy bitch is likely to come back once she realises that she's got nowhere to go. I've got a place. We shouldn't stay here..."

"Hold up," Draco interrupted. He stepped up to the group of people, still wincing and holding his hand to the freshly healed spot on his side. "I don't see Theodore anywhere."

"That'll be another thing," George said before Ron could say what he looked to be about to say. "But we have to get away from the stones and I have to send an owl."

" _I'm_ not going anywhere with you, Weasley," Pansy snapped, hands once again on her hips. "Not until we find Theodore. You saw what Carrow did to Draco just now. If she finds Theodore, she'll do the same thing. Or worse!"

"She won't find him." George let the statement hang for a moment before turning his attention to Harry. "Apparating isn't really a thing that wizards do in this time, I've learned, but I can manage to get everyone back to the house without anyone taking notice. It's been a while, so it'll have to be one at—"

"What do you mean she won't find him?" Pansy demanded, stepping between him and Harry. "Did you do something with him? Is he hurt? What aren't you telling us?!" She slapped away Draco's hand as he tried to get her to step back. Of all the people there, it was surprising that Malfoy was the one to try and reason with her.

George pinched the bridge of his nose. It was far too early in the day and he hadn't had anything to drink so he wasn't exactly in the mood to try and explain the whole story. Because that's what he was going to have to do. It was him. He was there. He'd been there for five years, not the five minutes that the rest of them had. He would have to explain everything and he didn't even know where he was going to start.

"Is he _dead_?" Pansy asked, the last word coming out at a higher pitch that bordered on the edge of shrieking.

"Get away from my brother, Parkinson," Ron warned, stepping forward.

"I will not! Your brother isn't telling us the truth!"

"He doesn't owe you the truth!" Ron's voice rose in volume.

"Shouting at each other isn't helping," Charlie chimed in.

"George is right, though," Harry added at the same time. "We're not prepared for Carrow to return and we're down a wand." He nodded his head toward Draco.

Pansy's face had turned a high shade of pink in her anger and she stamped her foot three times in the grass. "Then answer. My. Questions!" She punctuated each word with a stamp.

"I don't know where he is!" George bellowed. The group went silent at his shout and looked at him. He took a deep breath and spoke in a more even tone. "At least I don't know where he is precisely. Nott arrived two years after I did and didn't want to stay with me so he found himself a place with the royal court. They aren't always in the same place. So it would be helpful, Parkinson, if I could get you all home and then send an owl. He'll want to know you're here."

That seemed to satisfy Pansy, or at least it shut her up. She scowled, but said nothing else. George took out his wand and began with the arduous task of getting everyone away from the stones to the house, starting with Luna. Charlie and Ron did a circle around the stones to make sure there wasn't anyone else they'd missed or any items they ought to make sure were brought along while George popped back and forth.

Harry stepped away from the remaining people, moving to squat next to Hermione. It had surprised him that she'd been the quietest of the group, figuring that she would be the one with the most questions. But her entire focus was on the scribbles of notes and the calculations she was trying to make on the spare bits of paper she still had left. He reached out and touched her wrist.

"C'mon," he said.

"No. No, I need to figure this out," she said, leaning forward and then crawling a bit on her knees.

Harry reached out and gathered up some of the papers she'd discarded from her notes. "It's not safe to stay here, Hermione."

It took a moment, and a few more protests, before she finally conceded and got to her feet. Taking out her wand, she gathered up all the items that she'd strewn about from her bag and had them tucked away. George came back to the stones and held out his hand. They were the only two left in the group. Harry gestured to Hermione and took out his own wand. If Carrow came back, he'd be ready for her. Giving him one last look, Hermione stepped away from Harry and took George's hand. Then the two were gone.

The instant that they vanished, Harry dropped his wand, groaning in pain. He pinched his eyes closed and pressed his hand to his forehead. His scar had begun to burn the moment his eyes had opened and he'd managed, by some miracle, to keep the pain inside while everyone else argued. Drawing in a couple of deep breaths, he crouched down and felt the grass for his wand, carefully trying to push the angry thoughts out of his head and get some control over the pain. 

It was pain that he hadn't felt in years. 

When Voldemort had left Hogwarts in ruins and the whole of England in shambles, the only thing that was any sort of relief was that he didn't seem to be in Harry's head anymore. Harry wasn't sure why but he'd taken that blissful silence as a blessing and he was embarrassed to admit that he'd let his guard down, putting off his Occlumency practice to focus on other things.

But now the pain was back.

And the very idea that Voldemort might actually be in this century was terrifying.

George reappeared with a pop and Harry dropped his hand, swallowing back the gorge that had risen during the wave of pain. He forced a smile and focused on keeping the wall up against the dark, angry thoughts.

"Alright, Harry?" George asked, giving him a scrutinizing look.

"Never better, considering," he answered. "Just a little overwhelmed by the idea... sixteenth century and all."

He gave one last glance back toward the stones feeling like one of the giant monoliths had just lodged itself in his stomach and the dread almost overwhelmed the actual burning sensation that had spread across his scar. If he could feel Voldemort like this, then Voldemort could probably sense him as well. 

That put all of them in danger.

Reaching out, he touched George's wrist and in an instant the world had bent around him, rearranging itself until they stood in front of a tidy-looking house. Harry stepped through the gate, feeling the rough ward ripple around him as they crossed the magical boundary. His fingers itched to rub at his scar once again, but he shoved his hands into his pockets to keep them still. The last thing he needed was everyone knowing and worrying.

There was so much more they all needed to know before he dropped _that_ particular bomb.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hold still, Lovegood, or the spell isn't going to take," Pansy snapped from her crouched position as she waved her wand over the lanky blonde's trainers. The magic took a bit of effort to take hold but soon the shoes were shaping themselves into reasonably passable boots. Upon closer inspection, they were definitely not an exact replica, but under long skirts she was sure that they'd pass muster to the average scrutiny.

Luna stuck out her foot, tilting it this way and that before making a satisfied noise. She dropped the skirts she'd been holding above her knees as the spells had been cast. Pansy frowned, reaching out to pull at a pleat of blue fabric. The dress wasn't her best work, but it was so much more difficult to manipulate modern clothes into the heavier woollen and brocade fabrics of their present environment. There was only so much she could pull from her imagination.

It turned out that everyone had been so surprised when Pansy had said she could handle the clothing. Transforming new outfits was a skill she'd honed years ago and no one had suspected. How little they knew about her.

The boys had been easy to figure out, because of course they had been easy. Five centuries and fashion for boys didn't seem to be any different than it was in their own time. They, of course, were wearing different styles than modern clothing, but as it was in the future, women's fashions were far more complicated than those of the men. George had merely supplied his own spare clothing and she'd sized it all up or down. Easy. However, trying to make a reasonably accurate dress out of a t-shirt and a pair of jeans was harder than she cared to admit to anyone. In the end she'd somehow managed to pull it off. She could only hope that she hadn't gone too elaborate and fancy for 'relatives' to George Weasley's upper middle class merchant persona.

Pansy made a circle around Lovegood and then nodded approval at her own work. The spells should hold under scrutiny and, unless someone was careless with a _finite incantatum_ , the original t-shirt and jeans would remain transformed until wear and tear caused them to fall apart. Hopefully by then they would be back home or, she hated to admit, they had found replacements in this time.

"You're up next, Granger," Pansy said, flicking her fingers at Lovegood and effectively dismissing the blonde from her workspace. 

Hermione made absolutely no move to stand, remaining on the bench by the leaded window with one leg tucked under her body. On either side of her were all the books that she'd had hidden away in her magic bag, either butterflied open or with the important parts marked with bits of paper. She'd tucked a muggle pen into the untidy knot of hair twisted at the top of her head and was now working with quill and ink. A few drops of black already stained one leg of her trousers and Pansy was already irritated by that because she was sure that it would show on any dress she transformed.

"Granger," Pansy repeated, stepping close and waving her hand between Hermione's face and the page. When the other girl looked up, a frown knitting her brow, Pansy pointed to the spot that Luna had vacated.

"I'm busy, Pansy," Hermione said, flipping through a new book that she'd already gone through cover to cover more than once.

Pansy opened her mouth to point out that no amount of flipping and notes was going to change their current situation. They needed, as George had pointed out, to travel to Hogwarts and access the library there, but with no train and apparition limited, they would need to find another way and they couldn't very well be out in public in their twenty-first century street clothes. However, this was Hermione Granger and Pansy had already seen just how hyper-focused she could get. It had been the same way when she was travelling back and forth across the continent to learn all this archaic magic in the first place.

Shrugging, Pansy decided that she could fight this battle another day and ushered Luna out of the room.

"Your girlfriend doesn't want me to fix her clothes just yet," she said, pointing a finger at Ron. "She can't wander around in her jeans and t-shirt, Weasley. Go talk some sense into her."

Ron, who had been poking at the small fire in the enormous fireplace along the far wall, lifted the cast iron lid off the pot that hung above the flames. He checked on the water that had been set to heat for washing before adding more from a bucket beside the hearth. He frowned at Pansy. He didn't say the typical 'she's not my girlfriend' because he'd said it too many times before. Pansy knew that the two weren't together anymore. Everyone knew this. Ron and Hermione's relationship had never been able to find stable ground under the uncertainty of a war that was no closer to ending than it had been when they got together. There had been too many fights, too many shouting matches, and in the end they'd just decided that it was better to stop trying to force something to happen and just remain friends. That had seemed to have worked for them. They were much better at being friends.

That had been four years ago.

But it still didn't stop Pansy from poking at that old wound. Seeing him seethe was one of her only pleasures these days.

"Someone is riding very fast over the field behind the house," Luna said thoughtfully, leaning out of a window. "Not a thestral though. Just a plain black horse." She tapped her chin. "You know, I never realised that horses could run that fast. Should we be concerned that they're headed this way?"

Ron scrambled to his feet, wand drawn. He pushed past Pansy and heaved open the heavy door, leaning out to the back garden and calling for George, Charlie and Harry. Pansy itched to hex him and went to find Draco. It seemed like she was the only one who seemed to care whether or not he was warned as well.

Draco looked up when she entered the small room that somehow had four small beds crammed into it. Light came in through an open window and there was a book open on his lap. Pansy almost said something snippy about how he should go spend time with Granger if he wanted to sit about the house and read all day. He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, giving her a once-over before closing his book. Pansy would have been appreciative of the appraisal if she wasn't so worried about the approaching rider. She looked down and brushed away an imaginary speck of fluff from the front of her heavy dress.

"Someone's coming," she said, dropping her hands to her sides.

Draco tossed the book to one of the other beds and got to his feet, squeezing past her. He stepped out into the main room just as there was a heavy thumping on the door. George had mentioned that he didn't get visitors to the house and that they were safe with all of the wards that were in place around the property.

"Open up, Weasley for fuck's sake," came the voice from the other side of the door, and Draco's stomach dropped at the familiarity.

He pushed past the others, shoving Potter to the side and threw open the door. Behind him Pansy gasped and Draco could only stare at the person in front of him. It had only been three days. He could remember the last moment they’d conversed plainly. It had been breakfast. They had both been going over the newspapers and eating toast and avoiding the subject of 'what will you do if I don't make it' in their conversations because they'd already had that argument the night before. And he clearly remembered where that conversation had eventually led. Now Theodore stood in front of them and, like George, had more hair on his face than Draco ever remembered.

At least he'd had the good sense to style it.

Theodore's chest heaved as if he had been the one tearing across the hill instead of the horse. He made a quick glance to Pansy before stepping into the house and grabbing Draco into a tight hug. Theodore had never been one for enormous displays of friendship and especially kept himself in check when it came to such displays in public, but the relief on his friend's face was so apparent that Draco couldn't help but let it slide and he clapped his hand against Theodore's shoulder.

Then, as quick as the hug had started, it was over.

Theodore pulled at the fingers of his gloves and, once off, tucked them into the thick belt at his waist. "I don't have much time," he said. "I apparated to Wulfhall and rode from there. But I didn't get official permission..."

"Permission?" Draco asked, confused.

Pansy stepped up and reached out to grasp Theodore's hand. "You have to get the king's permission to leave court." She peered at him, still rather shocked at his slight change in appearance. "How on earth did you convince the king to allow you into his court to begin with?"

Theodore gave an elegant shrug, one that he'd perfected long before spending time with a royal court. It was so familiar that Draco couldn't help but grin. A throat cleared behind them and he was suddenly aware of the others who shared the space. Thankfully the inside of the house wasn't that brightly lit and the warmth that crept up his neck was easily hidden. He didn't like others being witness to his own outward displays of emotion. It was easier to keep himself and his friends safe if no one knew what was important to him.

"Glad you were able to find an owl this time, Weasley," Theodore said, addressing George.

George pointed his wand at an archway and floated a trail of tankards out to the main room followed by a cask of what was probably ale or cider. Draco wrinkled his nose, not really preferring either, but since it didn't seem like water was an option, he took one of the pewter cups and let it be filled. He found a chair and sat, the cup resting on his knee.

"I didn't want a repeat of the howler you sent when I used a patronus the last time. Trying to explain the shouting to my neighbours is a right pain in the arse, mate," George replied, filling Theodore's cup, a half smile on his face. "I'm still impressed by the fact that you could get that many curse words into such a short letter."

"Hang on," Ron interrupted. He gestured between Theodore and George and their mostly jovial body language. "You two are friends? Like.. friendly friends?"

Pansy muttered something sarcastic under her breath about how it wasn't so difficult to imagine that a Slytherin might become friends with a Gryffindor and something about being as daft as a tree stump, but Ron didn't seem to notice. Or he was blatantly ignoring her.

George passed his brother a drink. "When there's only the two of you for three years..."

"But he doesn't even live nearby."

Theodore sipped his drink. "The Floo network has been around since the twelve hundreds. We have ways of keeping in contact, even if I can't always travel."

A creak sounded behind as a door opened and everyone turned when Hermione entered the room. She blinked in surprise at their guest, but didn't seem to find it all that important and then turned to George. "How quickly can we get to Hogwarts?"

"It'll be a long journey," George said, offering her a drink. She shook her head.

"We can go soon though? I think I can figure this out but there are some books I want to see if I can find. Very early publications..."

Theodore straightened. "You figured out a way to get us all back?"

She shook her head. "Not quite. I'm missing a lot of information."

"So it'll take more time?"

Hermione gave him a look. "Yes. Why?"

Theodore finished his drink and set the cup down, finally turning to Harry. "Because you need to figure out how to get Voldemort away from the King before he does any more damage."

Harry's tankard hit the floor, ale spilling across the stone. "What?"

❦❦❦❦❦

_You need to be here, Nott. As fast as possible. Malfoy and Parkinson appeared along with a bunch of others. You'll want to see them._

_~GW_

Three days prior, Theodore had woken with the same electric sensation buzzing through his body. It prickled across his skin and tugged at the very edges of his stomach all throughout the day. He'd ignored it because giving it any sort of attention in previous years had done him no good. Instead he gathered books and scrolls to be brought to Cromwell (Thomas, not Oliver. The latter wouldn't be born for another sixty plus years, of course.) before requesting an audience with Henry himself to discuss his place in the upcoming summer tour of the court. 

However, something didn't sit well with him throughout the rest of the day. Normally the first of July brought that uneasy and prickly sensation in the morning and it faded by noon. This sensation, however, lasted well into the afternoon meal and into the evening. He couldn't seem to shake it. Something was different.

It was well into the small hours of the night when he finally decided that he would pop over to Diagon Alley before breaking his fast and get some Floo powder so he could check in on Weasley. A short trip would be unnoticed by others.

But the owl that tapped on his window well before the first rays of sunshine definitely put a spanner into that particular plan. Now he had to find a way to leave London immediately and get himself to Wiltshire. This was so much easier said than done. With preparations for the summer progress well into their last frantic moments of organization, no one was being given permission to leave court. While he could have easily apparated from his room to Weasley's house, Theodore didn't want to have anyone wonder why he wasn't answering any knocks or summons.

So he lied. 

He lied to the king, which was something he'd never thought that he would ever do. He'd lied, making up something relatively believable about overseeing a shipment of spices that he'd received word of coming into port on the morrow. He made sure people saw him take leave of Hampton Court the following morning and, once he was far enough away, he'd apparated to just beyond the boundaries of Wulfhall estate. Thankfully he didn't know any wizards in London, so his not-so-legal travel wouldn't get back to any of the authorities. He didn't make the attempt to travel further than that. Weasley, no doubt, had wards upon wards around his house and trying to pinpoint the location without having discussed it beforehand was not an intelligent idea. So rather than risk splinching himself, Theodore decided on a more familiar means of transportation.

Once at Wulfhall, it had involved some questionable magic on his part, but Theodore told himself that the ends justified the means and, in the end, he would return the horse to its original stall. It wasn't as if he'd used dark magic to hurt anyone.

He didn't remember the mad ride across the countryside. It was all a blur and the next thing he knew he was standing in front of Weasley's door, pounding on it. Then Draco was standing in front of him. And Pansy was there too. And all the terror of being so alone over the last three years finally bubbled to the surface to break down his carefully constructed façade. Suddenly he was across the threshold, embracing Draco so tight as if he half expected it all to fade like so many dreams before.

Then came his revelation over drinks.

The ale from Potter's tankard spread across the floor, wetting the stones and trailing down to the fireplace until it began to hiss and crackle against the heated hearth. Theodore met the shocked expression on the other man's face with an almost helpless one of his own. He set down his cup so as not to drop it and sat back in the chair, running a hand over his groomed beard. After a moment, Potter seemed to be unable to stop himself and his hand rubbed at the scar across his forehead.

"You've felt him, haven't you?" Theodore asked, finally, eyes flicking to the spot above Potters eyebrows.

All eyes turned to Harry, and his shoulders dropped as he finally nodded. "Back at the stones. It hit me like a bludger to the face."

"Harry!" Hermione admonished. "Three days and you didn't think to say anything?"

Harry, it seemed, had the good sense to look uncomfortable at Hermione's chastisement. However, before he could say anything, a chair scraped and Draco got to his feet, marching out of the room. There was a familiar scowl on his face that Theodore completely understood. Pansy started to rise, but Theodore reached out and caught her hand. He shook his head at her before glancing at the rest of the group and rising from his chair.

"Give me a moment; I don't want to explain it twice." And without waiting for anyone's permission—not that he sought it—Theodore followed Draco's exit.

He found his friend sitting on a three legged milking stool that was tangled up in some weeds near the gate. In any other situation it would have caused a laugh to rise up because in what world would anyone ever expect Draco Malfoy to perch on a milking stool? But it wasn't like there were reclining garden chairs at the ready. Crossing the yard, Theodore joined Draco, leaning on the fence beside him.

"I can't do this, Theo," Draco said after a very long stretch of silence. "It was one thing to help them, but that bloody spell was supposed to _work_. It was supposed to send that monster's soul back over a thousand years, leaving his body behind. We don't even know where the rest of his supporters might be, and now we have to deal with the Dark Lord potentially mucking up history or the Carrow bitch running around stabbing people?"

Theodore's eyes went wide and he looked down at his friend, catching the slight movement of Draco's hand against his abdomen. "Carrow... Alecto Carrow is here?"

A dry laugh exploded from Draco's mouth. "Yeah. That's a thing. Tried to kill me, before she took my wand and disappeared when she realised she didn't have anyone to fight with her."

Reaching down, Theodore rested his hand on Draco's shoulder, squeezing it. He should have apologised. It had been his idea to approach the New Order of the Phoenix and seek clemency in exchange for inside information. It had been his idea to recruit Pansy and Draco, asking for the same concession if they shared all that they knew and fought on the Order's side. If he hadn't done either of those neither one of his friends would be in this situation. But apologies would get them nowhere. No amount of 'I'm sorry' would change the fact that they were stuck in the sixteenth century with no promising way of returning.

"I don't think we can do this without you," Theodore said finally.

Draco sat silent for a while before shaking his head and running his hand through his hair. He tilted his face up toward Theodore. "No. They can't. If we leave it to the Gryffindors again we'll probably end up having to live our lives at the settlement of Skara Brae. And you know that I hate the north of Scotland."

He heaved himself up off the milk stool and followed Theodore back into the house and the argument within.

Hermione was the first to speak when Theodore reappeared. "Are you sure that Voldemort is there? At court with you?" She glanced at Harry and then back at him. "Harry says he can feel him, but how do you know he's at court?"

Theodore drew in a breath and returned to the chair that he'd vacated, expectant eyes following him as he moved. Rubbing his chin, he looked over at Potter. "It was just after the birth of the princess. This newcomer came to court and suddenly it was as if everyone was perfectly fine with him being there. Even Cromwell, who is a suspicious old goat if I ever saw one, didn't say a word about it." He paused, reaching down to the cup of ale he'd set aside and took a drink, grimacing a bit at the sour taste. He preferred wine and Weasley's ale was not particularly palatable, but there was nothing else offered so he drank it.

"A newcomer at court could be anyone," grumbled Ron. He looked to Harry. "You don't know that it's actually You-Know-Who. Could be any of the other Death Eaters. We all saw that Carrow managed to come through. Anyone else could have."

Pressing his lips together, Theodore resisted the urge to rise to the younger Weasley's bait and snap back at him. "The glamour he uses is unlike anything I've seen before. But that wasn't what made me so sure. It was the hissing." He waited for Ron to close the mouth he'd opened, preparing to make a comment, before continuing. "That snake is with him. He's got it holed up in his room and I've heard it."

Finishing the ale, Theodore held out the cup to George for a refill. "He's planning something. Something that involves the king and queen. I'm sure of it. We put him here so we're the ones who need to stop it from happening."

"And that's on top of trying to get home," George said finally, seemingly in agreement with Theodore.

"Yes," Theodore said with a nod. "On top of that."


	4. Chapter 4

Thinking he was the first one awake, Harry quietly dressed in the clothing that George had provided and Pansy had re-sized. He gave a last longing look to the box wedged into the corner between his bed and Charlie's, wishing he could, just this once, put on his regular clothes and pretend everything was back to normal. But it wasn't normal. The sounds of the morning that he was used to, a car honking or someone's alarm going off, were absent. The sheer amount of work it took to take dressed wasn't normal. He'd almost take camping in the Forest of Dean in a tent that smelt of cats over any of this.

Tucking his wand into the billowy sleeve of his shirt, Harry sighed and then carefully squeezed past Ron's bed by the door, letting himself out into the main room.

Surprisingly, George had quite the set up with a mostly profitable life carved out for himself. Harry had only been partially listening during the explanation—distracted by the pain in his head—so he didn't remember the whole story, but it involved something about a childless couple, the headmaster of Hogwarts, and George inheriting a mercantile business in Wiltshire. Amesbury was not a bustling metropolis, but it was large enough that he seemed to bring in a steady wage. 

The house was a decent size and big enough to house the eight of them, even if it was a bit cramped in places.

"Good morning, Harry," said Luna, looking up from the fire and giving the contents of a pot a stir. She held up a narrow wooden spoon, thick porridge sticking to all the sides, and Harry was actually quite impressed because it looked like she'd succeeded on her first attempt. "George told me where to find the oats before he left and I've made breakfast. They're not like the oats I'm used to, but it seemed to turn out alright. Would you like some?"

Harry gave a nod and found bowls and spoons, bringing them back to where Luna patted out an ember that had rolled out of the fire. Other than her and the steaming breakfast, the downstairs was empty. He assumed that everyone else was still upstairs sleeping. Nott had returned to Hampton Court the same day he'd left, promising to return when he could. Or at least send word. George, Charlie, and Draco had already, it seemed, set off for London through the Floo network. Malfoy needed a new wand and since Ollivander's had already been around for over eleven centuries, that task seed relatively easy enough. Only the three of them went, leaving Ron and Harry behind with the girls, and Harry didn't expect to see them back until the evening.

"I'm sorry there isn't any cream or sugar to go with it. Just a pat of butter if that's alright with you," Luna said as she filled the two bowls before passing them over. "I saw Hermione go outside just as I came downstairs. I tried to convince her that if she waited on some breakfast perhaps the problems would be easier to solve, but she didn't stay."

Taking a bowl in each hand, Harry pushed open the door with his shoulder, stepping outside. He didn't immediately see Hermione in the garden and he paused to look back to the house. With there being just the one main room, Luna would have seen if she'd come back inside. The gate was open, and he stepped beyond the garden, heading down the path that ran along the side of the fence.

George's house sat on the outskirts of the little village, closer to the river than the buildings. He'd thought it strange to not be right in the town proper for business purposes but hadn't asked about the decision. Harry tilted his head and listened for sounds. They'd already been told that there was a parish church not too far away and he wondered if they could hear the bells toll the hour or if that sound would be muffled by the stand of alders growing along the opposite side of the path.

He found Hermione sitting down by the River Avon, her heavy transformed skirts around her knees and her feet dangling in the water. Harry took a seat next to her and held out the bowl. She took it and sat it in her lap, uncharacteristically quiet as she stared out at the slow moving water.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said after a few minutes had passed. "I really thought it would work and had no idea it would go so badly."

Harry reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "You're going to figure out how to fix it," he said, confident in his statement.

"You don't know that," she said, rolling her shoulder and knocking off his hand. She looked at him, eyes puffy and rimmed with red. 

He knew she'd been crying. He'd caught her on her own a few times already, angrily swiping at her eyes. He'd said nothing to put her on the spot. The last thing anyone needed, especially her, was to have attention drawn to their emotions. Not to mention, Harry didn't want to say such insipid things like 'it's not your fault' because he knew that she would argue that it was. And she would be right, in a way. It had been her discovery of the spell. It had been her passionate justification that this would be a viable way to defeat Voldemort without Harry having to sacrifice himself.

Drawing in a breath, Harry set his bowl aside, reaching down to tug his boots off. He tossed them further up onto the bank and slipped his feet into the cold water beside hers, nudging her ankle with his toe. She looked at him again and Harry tried a small smile.

"I do know it," he said. "Because I know you won't give up until it's solved. That's just how you are, Hermione. If we have to rip our way through England and the continent to find the answer, you're going to solve this."

"Maybe I'm just not as bright as everyone seems to think I am." She waved her hand to the north. "I couldn't even predict that the magic wouldn't work at Stonehenge. The henge is supposed to have some of the strongest ley lines in the country and it still didn't work. It had to go arse-backwards and now I've trapped everyone here!"

" _You_ didn't trap us here," Harry reminded her. "An accident did."

"An accident I caused!" She hit the ground beside her hip with a closed fist before rubbing her eye with the heel of the same hand.

Harry looked down at the bowl of porridge that he'd set aside and reached to pick it up again, picking out a bit of grass that had somehow managed to fall across the contents. He turned and tapped his bowl against hers before settling in to eat the still warm, but not quite as hot, breakfast. Hermione gave him a look, but eventually started to eat as well. The pair of them sat there, feet in the water, silence stretching out over the water until the bowls were empty. He took hers and leaned forward, swishing both of them and the spoons in the water until they were mostly clean and the leftover cloud of oatmeal residue had dispersed with the bubbling current.

"Better?" he asked.

"Well, I'm not any worse," she groused, and leaned back on her hands to look out over the river. After a few minutes had passed she glanced at Harry, her expression now contrite. "I'm sorry, Harry. That wasn't nice. I know you're just making sure I'm alright and I shouldn't have shouted."

A smile tugged at the side of Harry's mouth and he nudged her with his elbow. "Wouldn't be the first time that you had. Probably won't be the last. Half the time I deserve to be shouted at and you know it."

Finally she let out a soft 'ha' of laughter and shook her head, a smile appearing on her face. Harry pulled his feet out of the water and rubbed them against the dry grass before sitting cross-legged. He knew she was beating herself up over what happened, especially with the knowledge that George and Nott had been on their own without any idea of what had truly happened or if they would ever see any of their friends and family again. The guilt had to be excruciating, but Harry knew that he couldn't just tell her not to feel bad because that wouldn't change anything. George was five years older than he'd been and he had a feeling that Malfoy resented her for Nott's similar situation. Of course Malfoy probably resented all of them for much more, but Harry didn't spare any major concern over it.

"So what do you need?" he asked, once it looked as if the tension in her shoulders had finally started to dissipate.

"Need?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, I don't know the intricate runes that you were using, but I can look through books well enough and hopefully help you find something. You have all those books in your magic bag and you're trying to read through them all by yourself." He gestured to the wide open space to the south of them and the river and the house behind him. "It's not like I have anything else that I'm doing aside from concentrating on keeping Voldemort out of my head. I could read..."

She started to laugh. It began as a small chuckle and then grew into peals of high laughter. "You? You actually want to read through my research books? Are you serious, or just taking the piss?"

Harry got to his feet and snatched up his boots and the bowls. "Well, Ms Granger, if you don't want help when it's offered, I'll take my leave," he said, trying to sound insulted but sure that he wasn't pulling it off in the slightest. "I'll have you know I read quite well. You just never noticed because you never look up from your own enormous tomes."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione followed him, snatching up her own shoes but walking barefoot with him back to the garden gate. "My apologies, good sir, for mistaking all those times you were asleep and drooling on your textbooks during our free time at school. I didn't know you could read with your eyes closed and your mouth open."

Harry raised his chin, marching up toward the door. "I am a man of many varied talents."

"Clearly." Hermione shook her head and followed him inside.

Ron looked up from his spot at the table that had been pushed up against the wall when Harry and Hermione entered the house. He gave them a salute with his porridge covered spoon and went back to eating. Normally he wasn't that much of a fan of the stodgy breakfast and would have preferred a few rashers of bacon and some runny eggs, but Luna had done something impressive with the warm cereal. It tasted different from the other times he'd had it and he wondered if it would taste even better with some Lyle's golden syrup drizzled over the top. His mood soured a little after that thought crossed his mind. Lyle's wouldn't be around for years and years.

Still. It wasn't terrible porridge. So he ate it. And then filled his bowl a second time.

The stairs made a noise and he turned to watch Parkinson carefully descend. She seemed to not have a problem with navigating the steps in the yards of fabric that she now had swirling about her feet. He paused, spoon in his mouth, and looked her over before dropping the utensil back into his breakfast. Somehow she'd managed to change the colour of the dress and some of the trimmings and instead of the green she'd been sporting the day before, her dress now fell in dark brown folds.

Ron snorted a laugh. "You made yourself a different outfit?"

Pansy scowled at him and almost turned to flounce back up the stairs, but seemed to think differently. She lifted her chin, resting her hands against the bodice of her dress, and stepped into the main room. 

"Some of us like to look presentable," she said with a sniff, lifting her hand to straighten the crescent shaped hood on her head. She waved her hand at his loose tunic, baggy hose and bare feet. "Some of us prefer to _not_ look like a mountain troll dragged them through the garden before breakfast."

A look passed between Harry and Hermione, but they said nothing as Harry took their empty dishes and placed them into a basin full of water. It wasn't the first time that Ron and Pansy had gotten into a sniping match and it probably wouldn't be the last. The best was to either ignore it or find a way to interrupt the conversation so that they lost their trains of thought and went back to actively ignoring one another.

Ron leaned back in his chair, tipping it onto the two back legs and picked up his spoon, pointing it at Pansy. But before he could say something the door opened and Luna, who had been absent, came into the house, a wide smile on her face. Crossing the room, she set the bowl she was holding onto the table. A large, glistening chunk of honeycomb sat in the dish. It oozed honey from its cells. Batting away one of the bees that had followed her in, Luna brought a finger to her mouth and sucked on her knuckle.

"George has a beehive?" Hermione asked before anyone else could say anything.

Luna nodded enthusiastically. "I found a skep out behind one of the outbuildings, though I should have looked earlier so you and Harry could have had some on your porridge. Father always liked the idea of old basket hives. The bees were so much happier and helped us with the best of our dirigible plums." She paused. "Those kinds of hives aren't popular in our time, but you just have to know how to talk to the bees and then you don't have to destroy them to get the comb out of the baskets."

"Brilliant," Ron said. "Mum always said honey was better than sugar in your tea." He looked around. "Has my brother got a kettle somewhere we can put on?"

Pansy was the one to let out a sigh. She put her hands on her hips. "There is no tea, Weasley."

"Alright, so maybe he's out and needs to get more." He glanced over at Hermione with a smile. "Should we send Charlie a message and ask him to put it on George's shopping list while they're in Diagon?"

Before Hermione could answer, Pansy spoke again. "Your brother will have a hard time finding it. Tea hasn't been brought to England from China yet."

Sliding forward, Ron let the front two legs of his chair hit the floor. "What? How do you know?"

An angry look appeared on Pansy's face. "The same reason I can make these dresses." She gestured to Hermione and Luna. "The same reason I knew about Theodore needing permission from the King to leave court. This..." She waved her hand around at everything. "This is my favourite time period. I've been reading about it since I was a little girl. Were you really stupid enough to believe that the only thing Slytherins were interested in was seeing you Gryffindor fail at things?" She scoffed. "I mean, we did enjoy it. You were really good at it. But we did actually have other interests besides being nasty, evil witches and wizards."

Ron said nothing, his mouth pressed together in a thin and angry line. There was a long moment where everyone thought he was going to blow up and get into yet another enormous row with her. Somehow, though, he managed to surprise everyone and got up from the table, stomping past Pansy. A few seconds later they heard a door upstairs close with a loud slam that brought down a shower of dust motes from the rafters above the main room.

Harry rubbed his temple and gave Hermione a look before drawing in a breath and leaving to follow Ron. Hermione looked up to the ceiling and closed her eyes for a moment, praying that Harry would think to put up a muffling charm. No one, especially Pansy, needed to hear all the shouting. She didn't need that sort of ammunition.

A white cloth flew out of a cupboard and Luna snatched it from the air, placing it over the honeycomb. She carried it off to store it with the rest of the food. The air in the whole house had turned awkward and Hermione wanted to open all the doors and windows. Sniping wasn't going to change things, and she wished that the two of them would just back down instead of constantly trying to get under one another's skin.

"Poking at him really doesn't help matters, Pansy," said Hermione once Luna disappeared again.

"Well maybe he should stop running his mouth and he wouldn't show off how inordinately stupid he can be," Pansy said with a scowl. "What... did he think that he would have all the comforts of home here?"

"I'm sure he didn't."

 _Maybe she should tell Nott to go find some!_ , Ron's muffled shout bled through the charm that Harry had set. Hermione winced knowing how loud that must have actually been.

Pansy gestured to the ceiling with an 'am I wrong?' expression on her face. "Does he think it's that easy? That just because Theodore looks the part that he could just pop over to China? That he could just change history and introduce tea to England in the wrong century?"

Hermione hadn't voiced the thought, but she did wonder. Theodore Nott had spent three years in this time period and seemed to be well established in the upper classes and fairly well off. Perhaps he'd used his heritage to open up trade routes with people of which he spoke the language and changed history for his own benefit? None of them knew. He'd not stayed around long enough to ask.

A dark expression appeared on Pansy's face. "Don't you dare, Granger," she said, a warning finger rising to point at Hermione. "Don't you _dare_ think that Theodore would be that careless."

Sighing, Hermione moved around Pansy and picked up the abandoned bowl in front of Ron's chair, looking around briefly for something to scrape the remaining bit of porridge into before deciding on the fire. She then dropped it into the bucket of water to sit on top of the bowls that her and Harry had brought in. The water sloshed a bit over the edge and onto the floor. She looked back at Pansy who was still glaring at her.

"I'm not saying that he's been purposefully careless, Pansy," she said, thinking back to her third year and the Time Turner. "But there are rules about wizards and time. Not being seen is one of them." She held up her hand. "I know that it's practically impossible to go for three years without being seen and survive... but he's inserted himself into one of the most famous courts in history. Who knows what he's changed in doing that."

"Do you think he's not clever enough to keep up the ruse?"

Pulling out her wand, Hermione summoned her satchel. She began to pull out all the books she had with her, setting them in different spots on the table. Beside them she placed a few quills, what little notepaper she had left, and a pot of ink. She glanced toward the stairs and wondered if Harry had managed to calm Ron down before turning her attention back to the irritated Slytherin in front of her.

"Of course he's clever; I took classes with him. I know exactly how smart he is." She said, pulling out a chair. "That doesn't change the fact that him just being there is a change to the timeline that we know." Hermione lifted her skirts a little awkwardly and took a seat, pushing down the fabric that bunched up around her waist. "You said this is your favourite time period. Do you remember learning about anyone in Henry the Eighth's court like Theodore?"

Pansy shook her head. "Not a word. So maybe your theory of him changing history isn't so solid after all."

Turning on her heel, Pansy walked off and Hermione let her go. Maybe the other girl was right. Maybe Theodore hadn't done any damage to the timeline or the things that he _had_ done were, as it had been in her third year, always meant to have been done by him. But she was certain that a young, asian man spending his time next to the king of England would get some kind of mention in a book, wouldn't it?

Reaching for one of the books and her quill, Hermione sighed. She would have so much to answer to when or if they ever got home. The spell had only been designed to send Voldemort's fractured soul into the past and nothing else. She'd reasoned that it wouldn't be tampering with time if he was non-corporeal. 

Except that hadn't happened and what they returned to might not be the same world that they'd left.


	5. Chapter 5

The sun hung low in the sky, just barely touching the rise of the soft hills beyond the river when they returned from London. A vegetable soup of sorts greeted them, and Charlie was pleasantly surprised to see how quickly Luna had seemed to adapt to her surroundings. Bunches of greenery, that hadn't been in the house before they'd left, were hanging along a bit of twine strung along the wall. Charlie wasn't familiar with all the names of the plants—Herbology hadn't ever been his strong suit—but he was sure that none of them were potion ingredients and all of them had to help in the kitchen in one way or another. 

The only reason he knew it was Luna, of course, was that she'd been the one up before any of them had left, looking as if she was right at home in the garden, a basket on her hip while she picked at whatever George had said the village ladies had planted for him.

But it wasn't Luna that Charlie was actually looking for. Nor was he looking for the soup, which his brother and Draco made a beeline for even though Charlie's own stomach was giving off a bit of a protest at the bypassing of food. Instead Charlie left the main room and climbed the stairs, a pack on his shoulder. At the end of the narrow hallway was the room that had been given to the girls and when he got to it, he knocked on the rough wood.

"I'm not interested in another argument, Granger," Pansy's voice came from within.

"Not Granger last I checked," said Charlie, leaning on the wall.

There was a rustle of fabric and a thump of feet hitting the floor. A moment later the door opened a crack. Pansy looked at him warily before pulling the door fully open. Charlie lifted down the parcel he had on his shoulder and held it out to her. She took a step back, not making any move to relieve him of the proffered package. So, without asking and shrugging his shoulders, Charlie entered the room and plunked it down on the first bed he saw. He started to work at the cord that tied the sack together and then pulled out a large fold of fabric and another.

"Figured it would be easier for you to put together clothing if it wasn't already put together in the first place," he said, gesturing to what he'd brought. "Sorry there isn't a lot of colours, George says there are laws—"

"Laws around what colours and fabrics everyone can wear. I'm well aware of the king's Sumptuary Laws." Pansy reached down and pulled out a few yards of moss green fabric, surprisingly soft and Charlie had suspected that it had been charmed before being put up for sale. Pansy turned to him, a suspicious look on her face. "What do you want for all of this?"

Charlie put up his hand. "Not a thing."

She let out a suspicious snort, but before she could say anything about how nothing came without a price, Charlie had left the room, the fabric still sitting on the bed. Pansy scowled, but pushed the door closed and crossed the small space to sit beside the pile of new fabric and look over what had just been given to her. There were heavier wools and thin linens and a parcel of thread. She looked down at her own dress, knowing it was more in line with the kinds of things worn by the more well to do crowd. But she hadn't cared since no one was seeing them outside of the house.

George, however, had already talked of a trip north to Hogwarts and they were going to have to play the part. Which meant a lot of drab clothing and cloaks that would cover any grievous mistakes.

Still. She had her doubts about why this rather quiet but also a bit rough Weasley brother was being nice to her. It just didn't make sense and she didn't like the idea of feeling any sort of gratitude toward any of them. Folding the fabric back up, she placed all of it under her bed. It was going to be dark soon and she didn't want to attempt costume construction in the dim light of a candle or a couple of lumos-lit wands. That sort of activity was best left for the morning.

She left the bedchamber and descended down into the main room, frowning when she saw Ron seated at the table with his brothers discussing the trip to London and what Diagon Alley was like right now, and wishing he could have gone with them. With a sniff, she flounced past the whole lot of them. Draco had been taking his meals out in the garden, choosing to sit on a ridiculously tiny stool by the gate. He'd said something about feeling unwelcome at the table and just wished to be on his own.

Pansy understood how he felt, though she wasn't going to go as far as sit outside and eat alone. However, without Theodore, they didn't exactly have a buffer between themselves and the other Gryffindors. Theodore had been the one to approach the New Order of the Phoenix and propose that having spies to feed information. But no one in the New Order had completely trusted them. She knew it just as well as Draco did. There were always suspicious looks and whispers.

"I see you survived," she said, conjuring a cushion that no one would ever believe belonged in this time period before taking a seat and holding out her hand. "So let's see it."

Draco balanced the bowl of soup on his knee and held out the new wand. Pansy took it and gave it a bit of a swish. A puff of colourful petals burst from the tip before disappearing. She'd cast spells with Draco's old wand before and was quite familiar with how the magic felt. This definitely had a different edge to it and she wasn't quite sure if it really felt like Draco or it felt like a different part of Draco that she didn't quite know or understand. She peered at him for a moment to see if she could tell if he liked it, but it had been such a long time since she was able to read his face that she couldn't suss him out.

"And how was your day?" he asked, taking the wand back and tucking it away while he returned to the soup.

"Perfectly wretched," Pansy said with an exaggerated sigh. "Got into a row with Weasley over the fact that tea doesn't exist in England yet, though I truly am looking forward to the moment he discovers potatoes aren't around either... I suspect the meltdown will be amazing. The rest of the day I spent sitting around with Granger, _and_ Potter, if you can believe it, with my nose in one of her books. Though I really don't think she's going to find anything new. Not when we've gone through those things as often as we have."

Draco hmmm'd at appropriate breaks in her speech, but she knew he wasn't really listening and reached out to touch his knee. "I'm sure Theodore would have taken us back to court with him if he could have explained our sudden appearance without anyone becoming too suspicious."

Shrugging, Draco brought the bowl to his mouth and drained off the rest of its contents in an uncharacteristic display of bad manners. With a flick of his new wand, he sent the bowl into the house, hoping that it would reach whatever or whomever was doing the cleaning. He glanced over at Pansy. He knew she was just trying to help and in a small way he knew that she was right. Theodore had even said something to that regard before leaving, that he needed to figure out a way to bring them into court so they wouldn't have to stay here, but it would take time.

There was something bothering him though. Almost his entire life it had been him, Theodore, and Pansy. Of course there had been Blaise and Greg and Vince, but not in the same way. Blaise had always left every summer to be with his mother and whatever husband she had ensnared that year. Greg and Vince had been, well, Greg and Vince. Spending more than a day or two with them outside of the school year was more than enough. But Theodore and Pansy were like family. Even during sixth year when he was pushing everyone away. He always knew they were still his family.

This Theodore was different, though. In just three short years so much had been put upon his friend's shoulders and the change, for Draco, had been sudden and confusing. One minute he'd felt Theodore's back against his own as the two of them fought against some of the worst of Voldemort's supporters. The next moment he was separated from his best friend by three years of time.

He wasn't sure if he knew this Theodore anymore.

Wanting to change the subject, Draco shifted on the tiny stool and looked at Pansy. "I assume you were given the fabric?"

Pansy scrunched up her nose. "Weas—" she paused, sighing. "I'm going to have to start calling them by their proper names, aren't I?" She let out a half-hearted harumph when he nodded. "Fine. _Charlie_ brought me the fabric that you found in London. It's all under my bed right now." She leaned forward and put her elbows on her knees, propping her head against her cupped palm. "I'll work on new things tomorrow, but my projects aren't terribly interesting or fashionable. Tell me about London instead."

So he did.

London had been the strangest thing. It looked so much smaller and Draco couldn't orient himself without the familiar landmarks. Buildings he expected to see were not in the places he expected them and more than once he'd turned himself so much around that it had made his heart pound and a chilling panic start to bubble up. The only thing that had somehow managed to keep him from complete and utter despair was the fact that he was flanked by two Weasleys. He would not and absolutely could not falter in front of either one of them.

The panic faded when they stepped into the Leaky Cauldron. Aside from the general newness of it all, the inside was relatively the same as Draco remembered. It grounded him, and when they crossed into the alley itself, Draco felt so much more at ease. Even if some of the shops had different names, there was still a place to buy books. There was still a place to buy potion ingredients. And a place to purchase robes. Above all, there was Ollivander's. How strange it had been to set foot into the same building that his eleven year old self was still over four hundred and fifty years from doing.

"The Mr Ollivander that runs the shop currently," Draco paused, lightly brushing his fingers over his wand before looking at Pansy, "I'm sure that he knew that there was something different about me. Twice, I'm certain, I heard him muttering about how I ought to have hawthorn and unicorn, but not yet."

In the end a wand did eventually choose him. The eleven and a half inch hazel had felt comfortable in his hand, warming to his touch the moment his fingers brushed the soft wood. Again a core of unicorn hair had called to him and the spells he cast were just as accurate as they had been with his other wand. It would suffice, but he still held out hope that they would find Carrow and get his old wand back from her.

"George sent a message to Hogwarts while we were there asking for a portkey large enough for eight to be created and sent to him. He said the headmaster, Undercliffe, should allow us to visit the school easily enough with there being no classes in session."

"And I'm sure we'll spend all our time in the library pouring over books that will be little to no help," Pansy said with a sigh.

Draco nodded. Granger had been frantic over her books to the point that he was sure she was going to set one of them on fire with some sort of accidental magic. It seemed to crackle through her hair with every flip of the page. He was glad that George had suggested they go to London. Mostly because he'd been anxious not having a wand at his disposal, but partly because he just wanted to be out of the house and away from everyone. It was why he'd chosen to eat his supper in the garden instead of around the table with the others.

"Do you think the common room will look the same?" Pansy asked.

"I imagine so," Draco said. "Those rooms are as old as Hogwarts itself."

She chuckled and when he looked at her, Pansy flapped her hand. "I was just imagining leaving myself a message in one of the dorms. Carved into the stone for me to find when I finally get to the school. Maybe to warn myself to avoid the clementine phase at all costs. The colour is atrocious on me." She trailed off at the expression on Draco's face. "What?"

Draco tilted his head, considering what she'd just said and then leaned over to press a kiss to her cheek. "Never let anyone tell you that you're not as smart as, or smarter than, Granger," he said, getting to his feet and walking quickly to the house.

Behind him, Pansy began to protest because he'd just left her hanging and she struggled to stand, vanishing the pouf that she'd conjured before following him into the house. Draco marched over to where Granger was reading by the fire, Potter sitting beside her on the floor with his feet stretched out toward the hearth. Draco reached out and took the book from her, ignoring her protest and then flipped the pages to the front of the cover. Inside the front jacket, a stamp said 'property of Hogwarts' and then to the next page that listed the publishing date, which was well before the year they were presently in. He looked at her.

"There are two versions of this book in the same timeline, Granger," he said.

She frowned at him and reached out, snatching the book back. "I know that."

"If I found the original copy and wrote something in the margin, it would appear in this version, would it not? Because they're the same version only four and a half centuries apart, correct?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes and he imagined her wanting to say something about defacing school property. Good lord, she was so predictable. He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced upward to the ceiling for a moment before returning his attention to her and for once he just willed her to see what he was trying to say without having to spell it out to her. Pansy sucked in a breath behind him and he knew that she'd understood what he was implying.

"Pansy was just saying something about leaving her future self a message and it gave me an idea. So, the vanishing cabinet in the room of hidden things..." He paused at the dark look on her and Potter's faces. "Alright, yes, I know that no one wants to think back to that day and what happened, but think about it like those cabinets. I'd put something in one cabinet and it would appear in the other because they were connected despite their location. It would be the same for these books. Except they're not connected over a distance, but time. So, with all that, wouldn't we be able to send a message to someone? To you? In the future?"

He watched Granger mull over what he'd said and for a moment he thought she would dismiss him outright. Not that he would have cared because he would have just gone ahead and tried to get messages to the future anyhow. She wasn't his mother and she wasn't the one in charge of the group.

Biting the side of her lip, Hermione seemed to debate what she wanted to say before she looked up at Draco. "But I would have seen those messages already if we'd left them. Not to mention how will we even know that they will see at those books?"

Draco threw up his hands. "Not for you to find, then. The plan was always for everyone to shift into Hogwarts rebuilding once this was all done, wasn't it? So someone might be there, going through the books. So let's leave notes for someone else to find. Maybe one of the swotty Ravenclaws in the group. Corner or Boot? One of them is probably driving himself batty trying to figure out what happened to all of us."

"Wouldn't hurt to try," Harry said from the floor.

"Thank you," Draco said without thinking. He stopped short and felt his cheeks begin to colour. 

Potter had just said something to his defence and he had responded by _thanking_ him? Rather than bring attention to his words, Draco kept his focus on Granger who was looking back and forth between the two of them as if she was also as bewildered by this sudden agreement between the pair of them. Granger shifted in the chair and looked at Potter, but before she could say something and Draco imagined it was along the lines of not messing with time or changing the past or making a mess of the future, Harry shrugged. 

"I think we should explore all options and I know you're panicking about being seen and meddling with time, but this isn't like third year and if we don't find a way to get home we're only going to make things worse.

Pansy nudged Draco. "I'm not hearing things, am I?" She asked. "That's Harry Potter and he's agreeing with trying something you suggested? I heard that right?"

Draco had to admit he was also doubting what had just happened and part of him wanted to know what the catch was. There had to be a catch.

Pulling off his glasses and rubbing the spots on the side of his nose where the pads had rubbed against the skin, Harry looked up. "Look. We're all in this together and I know there's a lot of blame and guilt going around, but we're not going to get anything done if we don't work together. So that's it. I'm extending an olive branch of sorts. I don't want to fight since that's not going to solve our immediate problem." He leaned to the side and looked at Pansy. "It's going to take _all_ of us. Ron included."

Pansy opened her mouth, but Draco turned, holding out a finger and she thankfully didn't speak. When he looked back, Potter was extending a hand. Draco regarded it for a moment, feeling a strange bit of hesitation just under the surface of his skin. A small memory tickled at the back of his head of him extending an eleven year old hand to Potter only to be shunned in front of everyone. Granted he'd been a little shit about it—not that he'd ever admit that to anyone in his lifetime—but the rejection had stung. For a brief moment he considered doing the same to Potter.

"Truce?" Harry asked, eyebrows raised above the rims of his glasses. "You can go back to hating me once this is all over."

Draco's mouth twitched, but he reached out to clasp the proffered hand. "Truce."


	6. Chapter 6

The thing about attending school in a castle as old as Hogwarts was that one got used to the stone walls and the stone floors and the candles everywhere. The Great Hall still had its long tables and raised dais for the teachers. Familiar banners with the school crest hung along the wall, and even the ceiling with its enchanted sky leant a bit of comfort because if Ron squinted a little he could almost feel as if nothing had changed. Except it had changed. Everything had changed. 

Hogwarts didn't even look like this anymore.

When the fighting at the school finally stopped, Death Eaters fleeing to the far reaches of Europe, the school sat in shambles. Fires had destroyed so much of the building and duelling spells had razed a good portion of it to the ground. As the war raged on, the Ministry was slow to rebuild. Mostly because ferreting out the corruption was taking all of its effort and focus. The wounds in the government were deep. Retreating Death Eaters had destroyed a lot of the departments and trying to fix the mess while in an active war had proven to be far more difficult than anyone had anticipated.

But this was no war-torn Hogwarts. This was sixteenth century Hogwarts and the castle still loomed over the grounds, unaware of its future fate. Ron sat on one of the benches in the Quidditch stands, eyes closed and imagined games that he'd either watched or played. Everyone else seemed content to flip through pages and pages of books that were supposed to be old but really weren't. It got to a point where he'd had enough and announced that he was going out to clear his nose of all the dust he'd just been breathing in.

Something hard and heavy hit his lap, startling him out of his thoughts. Ron looked first at the broom handle that was now across his thighs and then up at Charlie.

"George has the quaffle down on the field," he said, jerking his chin toward the goal posts on the other side of the pitch. "Figured you had the right idea getting outside and talked to Undercliffe about borrowing the school's quidditch supplies for a bit."

The old headmaster had introduced himself as Fytherley Undercliffe. Like Dumbledore, the older man had a long white beard and a knowing glint in his eye and the similarity made Ron wonder if those sorts of things were a prerequisite of the job. Hermione had spoken briefly of the headmaster before they'd set out for the scheduled portkey, about how he was one of the few who had come from Hufflepuff house. He was the headmaster that had commissioned the construction of the prefect's bathroom, which included the stained glass mermaid, having travelled to far corners of the world and seen how other countries viewed cleanliness.

Though with views on bathing by most of the students, the bath was rarely used.

Ron, however, looked forward to the week or so that they'd be at the school. There was only so much that a cleaning charm would do and Undercliffe had given them open access to most of the school while they were there. His fingers still hadn't lost their waterlogged wrinkle from his morning bath.

As they crossed the grassy field, George lobbed the quaffle at Charlie who expertly snatched it from the air and passed it to Ron without missing a beat. The two men smiled at each other before looking at their younger brother. Ron shrugged and then grinned at the two, lifting the broom from his shoulder and standing it on the ground. 

"Dunno if this is fair. What with you both being so old and all." He tossed the ball back to George.

"Old?!" George exclaimed, insulted.

"Hermione said yesterday the average life expectancy was about forty in this century, yeah?" He mounted the broom and started to hover about four feet off the ground. "Should I be worried about you two old geezers? Broken hips and the like?"

The quaffle came flying back at him and Ron almost was knocked from his broom when he caught it, chuckling. He raced up into the air and threw the ball at the target before jumping forward to catch it just before it went through one of the goals. George and Charlie joined him a moment later, the former looking to steal the bright red ball and the latter rolling his shoulders, a beater's bat in his hand. George pointed his wand at the ball case and released one of the bludgers, drawing back on his broom as it shot up in the space between the three of them.

"You know, Hermione continued by explaining the low age number was because children had it harder and didn't live very long. Or did you stop listening after you decided that Charlie and I were old?"

Ron's smile widened. "Stopped listening. Obviously." 

They went a few rounds, just tossing the quaffle back and forth in their own made up version of the game. The pitch was divided in half, Charlie taking one end and Ron taking the other. The two tried to score on each other's goals, playing both the part of Keeper and Chaser at the same time. Both of them played hard, actively trying to avoid George's, who was not on either side, carefully aimed bludgers. It wasn't an actual game and no snitch was involved, but it mostly resembled the way they would play back at the Burrow when everyone was home for the holidays.

The quaffle raced past the tips of Charlie's fingers and through the hoop. Ron let out a whoop and zoomed about the pitch in a small victory lap. Charlie sat back with a hand on his knee and glanced over at George who had sent the attacking bludger back into the sky with a heavy smack. Ron flew low and scooped up the fallen ball, tossing it to Charlie.

"Again?" he asked. "I'll go easy on you."

Charlie shook his head. "This old geezer is throwing in the towel. Dunno where you learned some of those moves, but I'm man enough to know when to call it quits," he said with a laugh.

"Bravo!" A cheer came from below them, followed by clapping.

Ron looked down and saw Luna sitting on one of the wooden benches cheerfully applauding. If her hair had been tied up at one point, it was loose around her shoulders now and looked as if it hadn't seen a brush all morning. The wand behind her ear was jostled from its place and fell to the floor of the bleachers. Beside her sat Parkinson who, surprisingly, didn't look as if she had been dragged outside against her will. After retrieving her wand, Luna shielded her eyes and held up a basket, waving them down. George caught the bludger and returned it and the quaffle back to the locked case, she moved to set up a row of sandwiches.

"The kitchen elves were very confused when I gave them the instructions, but I think they turned out alright," she said, holding one out to Ron. "Once they got the hang of it, of course. But I had to make them swear they wouldn't make them for anyone else but us."

"That's because they've not been invented yet, Lovegood," Pansy said, not looking up from the fabric on her lap.

Ron snatched up one of the sandwiches and took a large bite. "Invented or not, they're brilliant."

Charlie and George both grabbed up one each for themselves and found seats on the benches. Pansy shook her head when Luna held one out to her, continuing with leading her wand along a seam, thread and a needle following close behind. She'd managed a few new items for the girls, simple dresses and ones that would be easy to put on and take off without any help from anyone else. In her lap was what looked like a very heavy piece of woollen cloth and Ron shook his head wondering why she'd come out into the heat of the July sun to work on something that had to be making her sweat.

Stubborn, he supposed. Then with a shrug, he sat down and polished off his lunch in a few bites. He hadn't realised just how hungry a quick game of improvised quidditch would make him.

"Weasley, come over here," Pansy said suddenly, shaking out the fabric.

Ron looked first at Charlie and then at George before returning his attention to her. "Need to be a bit more specific."

She sighed. "Fine. _Ron_. Come over here. You're the tallest."

Holding out the fabric, she waited and when he didn't immediately stand, she gave him what might have been a scathing look if she didn't look so tired of giving scathing looks. Ron hesitated for a few more moments before standing and squeezing past Luna to stand in front of Pansy. She rose and grabbed the front of his tunic, pulling him down a bit before draping the fabric around his shoulders. She twirled her fingers, indicating that he turn around and with a slight roll of his eyes, Ron complied.

"I hope you don't expect me to wear something this heavy when it's so bloody hot outside," he said, already feeling sweat start to prickle along the small of his back.

"It's not for the summer," she said, casting a spell at the hem and raising it up by a few inches until it brushed against his ankles.

Luna tilted her head, looking up at Ron who was facing her now. "I imagine that it would be terribly comfortable and quite warm in the winter months."

"Hang on," Ron said, turning around suddenly and dropping the cloak from his shoulders. "You're preparing for the winter?"

Pansy's lips tightened and she waved her wand at the discarded fabric, summoning it to her hand. She returned to her seat on the bench and began to fold the fabric into a bundle before setting it aside. "I'm doing what I can to contribute. We don't know if or when the spells will work. We don't know if we have to travel back on the same day we left or if we can find another way to trigger the magic to work in reverse. So I'm doing this because it's all I have. I'd rather not try to make clothing for everyone when the days are short and the nights are long and dark."

"So that's it then? You don't think Hermione will figure this all out and get us home?" He could feel himself start to get angry. And he'd been doing so _well_ with keeping his temper in check when it came to the pair of Slytherins in their group. "She's going to figure this out, Parkinson. Giving up on her is just idiotic."

Pansy glared at him. " _Granger_ is the one who suggested this!" Her voice rose in volume before dropping to something that was more tired than anything else "Go snarl at her about giving up, not me. I'm just trying to be useful and contribute to the group."

To say that Ron was at a loss for words was a pretty decent understatement and, before he knew it, Pansy had leaned down and grabbed the unfinished cloak. She marched off the stands and across the field. Ron turned to face his brothers and Luna. All three of them seemed to be shifting uneasily and that told him that no one was completely on his side. Luna's gaze fixed on the retreated Slytherin before she looked down at the half-eaten sandwich in her hand and both George and Charlie had this familiar expression that Ron had seen all too often on his mother's face. Disappointment.

"You should lay off, Ron," Charlie said after the silence that hung around them became too uncomfortable. He put up a hand when Ron opened his mouth to protest. "I know she's digging right back at you. But something's gotta give."

"I wonder," Luna said thoughtfully, "if anyone has asked her if she's scared. Sometimes people are very blustery and angry and say things that they really don't mean when they're frightened just so that others won't know that they're frightened."

Grabbing the flat hat that he'd left behind on the bench before stepping onto the pitch with his brothers, Ron said nothing in response before he too marched off. He was doing a lot of that these days, marching off so that he didn't have to deal with the conversation. A small part of him was angry at himself for doing so because he felt like he was giving up and not defending himself. But this time it felt a little different. He was leaving because he was angry with himself. After all, Harry had extended his hand to Malfoy. It shouldn't be that hard for him to set aside his thoughts and feelings and do the same.

Now Harry was working shoulder to shoulder with Malfoy and Hermione. Harry had reached out his hand and offered a truce and Ron was still caught up in a bundle of angry feelings he couldn't resolve. Parkinson had suggested throwing Harry to the wolves and letting Voldemort have his way. Malfoy had switched sides so many times that Ron wasn't sure when he'd see another switch when it suited the Slytherin to do so. Was he supposed to forget all that and pretend everything was just fine?

An arm slipped around his elbow and Ron jumped in surprise. Luna held a handful of her skirts in one hand, the basket which was now bereft of sandwiches hanging from her arm. She smiled and walked with him.

"Has anyone asked you?" she said after a few steps.

"Asked me what?" Ron wrinkled his brow, not following.

"If you're scared?" she replied, glancing up at him.

Ron's cheeks coloured when he realised she was just continuing the conversation that he'd walked away from. He wanted to puff out his chest and say that of course he wasn't scared. He wanted to say that he believed in Hermione and he had faith that they'd get back to their own time and it would be like this had never happened. But there was a niggling part of him that kept throwing the 'what if' wrench into the mix. What if they never got home? What if he never saw his mum or dad or the Burrow again? What if this was it and they were going to have to live their lives in a world where everything was different and where George was the wrong age? What if I never got to wear jeans and trainers again?

The last one was a bit silly, but still something that had crossed his mind. 

The crux of it was that he was. He was scared.

Ron let out a breath. "Yeah, Luna. Yeah I'm scared. I don't know what I'll do if we can never get home and see our families again."

She squeezed his arm with hers and nodded. "It would be a very strange thing indeed if you weren't scared and I think we're all hiding that we're scared behind angry words and very big walls that we've put up to keep everyone from finding out how scared we are."

She glanced over to where Pansy had found a place to sit beneath one of the old trees on the grounds. Ron followed her gaze and shifted a little, but Luna kept her arm firmly around his. She made no move to pressure him into going over to talk to Parkinson, thankfully. But the little pause in her step and the quick look made him uneasy. He really didn't want to feel sorry for Pansy Parkinson. Even if Luna might be right and Parkinson was just scared and lashing out. He didn't want to feel sorry for her because... he didn't know why.

"You know," Luna bumped him with her elbow, "I'm not saying that you have to suddenly be best friends with her."

Ron couldn't help but laugh. "I think she'd be horrified at the idea."

Stumbling a little, Luna picked up her skirts and Ron glanced down only to realise that she was wandering about without her shoes and only one sock. He couldn't help but chuckle because it was still one of her colourful ones, even if it was a bit dirty from walking about on the grass. Briefly he wondered if her shoes had gone missing and that they'd find them hanging somewhere in the school, but shook his head to clear the thought. There wasn't anyone at the school who would do something like that to her. Leaning forward, he reached down and caught up a bunch of her skirt, holding it away from her feet so she could walk more easily.

"You do nice things without thinking, Ronald," Luna said, stepping onto the flagstone path that led up to one of the school's many side entrances. "It's appreciated more than you might realise."

Letting go of his arm, Luna dropped the skirt from her hand and waited for him to do the same, the basket slipping from her elbow to her fingertips. She grinned and then turned down the corridor, happily swishing her long skirts back and forth over the stone floor with every step. Ron shook his head with a smile, thinking she looked like a very floaty bell. Behind him a portrait tutted disapprovingly as if watching Luna walk away was the height of scandal. Ron flipped two fingers at the stodgy old man in the painting and went in the other direction.

Back in the library, Ron found that everyone had left. Books were still piled on the table that Hermione had commandeered, open to various pages. Ron pulled back a chair and pointed his wand at one of the candles that had been left behind, setting it alight. He ran his finger along the typeface, finding it not as difficult to read as he had before going outside. He looked around the table and found one of the pieces of parchment that Hermione had taken notes on, reaching for a quill and ink pot. He wasn't the best at taking notes but he figured that his reading of the text would be different than others.

He might see something in skimming that everyone else missed while trying to scrutinise the words.

"I hope you're happy with this, Granger, because I have a crick in my neck from all the needlework spells and—" Pansy's voice came to a sudden stop and Ron looked up from the book he was focused on.

His attention shifted to the candle and noted that it was a lot lower than it had been and then toward the window realizing that the shadows had shifted. He didn't know how long he'd been reading or why no one else had come back. Waving his hand at the empty chair, he sat back and closed the book. Then he placed the parchment with his messy notes on top of it, leaning forward to blow on the ink before looking at Pansy again.

"Don't think she'll mind if you just leave it there."

Pansy gave him a suspicious look and clutched the cloak to her chest a little tighter. Ron felt a pinch of anger and sucked in a breath, holding it for a few beats before letting it out again. Luna was right. It was going to be impossible for the two of them to be friends. Not in this lifetime. The very idea was absurd. Neither he nor Parkinson trusted one another and he suspected that would never change. After a long silence, he folded his arms across his chest.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Pansy asked finally, the suspicious look still on her face.

Ron gestured to the books and then at the parchment he'd been writing on. "Same as everyone else. Looking for an answer."

Crossing the space, Pansy heaped the cloak onto a chair—not the one he'd indicated—and then snatched up the parchment, looking at it. Her nose scrunched up and she turned it around in her hands as if she couldn't make heads nor tails of what was in front of her. Ron rolled his eyes. Of course he knew his writing was messy, but Hermione had never had a problem deciphering what he was trying to say. Nor had Harry.

"I get it," he said after a long moment. "It's chicken scratch and illegible and you've probably seen better writing from a—"

"Have you shown this to the others?" she asked, interrupting him.

Ron blinked and shook his head. "No one has been up here."

Pansy slapped down the parchment and pointed to the marks along the side of the page. They were copied directly from one of the older texts he couldn't actually read. They just seemed like they were important. He just didn't know how. He looked at Pansy's finger and then up to her face.

"Do you know anything about magical ley lines and runes?" she asked. "Where did you copy them from?"

Ron shook his head to answer her question and then pointed to the book which she snatched up, flipping through it. The runes he'd copied were woven into the illuminated borders that lined each page.

"These are directional runes," she said, surprised. "I'm pretty certain you just drew a map and they don't point to the magical lines we originally found when this all began."


End file.
